


You thought I'd leave (But I'm still holding on)

by orphan_account



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, M/M, Mutual Pining, Phil Needs a Hug, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-15
Updated: 2014-09-15
Packaged: 2018-02-17 12:30:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2309735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint can't concentrate because Coulson is late.</p><p>Coulson's never late, no matter how hectic life in the castle is, and Clint will forever deny that the niggling feeling at the pit of his stomach may be the first stirrings of worry, because, well, because he has no cause to worry about Coulson. Coulson can take care of himself, that much is clear, with his broad shoulders and his kind eyes and his capable hands, and...</p><p>Wow, Clint is a terrible liar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You thought I'd leave (But I'm still holding on)

Clint sighs, sinking back further into the soft armchair.

He's tried to engross himself in his book - Numerology and Grammatica, 3rd edition - but despite his fascination with the subject matter, for some reason, Clint can't seem to concentrate.

Well, that's kind of untrue.

Not so much the fascination with Arithmancy, which has served to earn him the top spot in this year's class, beating Stark by an incredibly narrow margin - and even then, only because Stark absolutely detests studying - but the... the "for some reason" part.

Clint can't concentrate because Coulson is late.

Coulson's never late, no matter how hectic life in the castle is, and Clint will forever deny that the niggling feeling at the pit of his stomach may be the first stirrings of worry, because, well, because he has no cause to worry about Coulson. Coulson can take care of himself, that much is clear, with his broad shoulders and his kind eyes and his capable hands, and...

Wow, Clint is a terrible liar.

He lets the book drop down with a sigh, stretching sinuously before flipping himself back upright. He's acquired the odd habit of studying upside-down, something which never fails to amuse Natasha (hey, it works, he's got the marks to prove it), but he can't sustain it indefinitely. Unfortunately, the human body has a tendency to get headaches when suspended upside down for long periods of time.

"Barton," comes a familiar voice from beside him, and Clint fights back the conflicting impulses to both jump and to smile goofily.

Coulson's holding up a pack of chocolate frogs, half-opened, fond exasperation written plain and clear across his features. "What did I tell you about hiding food in the couch?"

Clint can feel his mouth twitching into a wide grin. "But Coulson," he says, letting his eyes open wide - Natasha has nothing on his puppy dog eyes - "It's just so accessible."

A chocolate frog sticks its head out from between the cushions with a soft croak, and another two quickly follow suit. Clint doesn't even need to look at Coulson to know he's trying to hide a smile. "Accessible," Coulson deadpans, and Clint feels the tips of his ears heat, knows his cheeks are flushing pink. "Tell me more."

Clint tears his gaze away from the (now hopping) frogs, meeting Coulson's blue eyes for a moment. He quickly ducks his head because _jeeze_ , since when did looking Coulson in the eyes give Clint this idiotic impulse to tug him in close and to press Coulson's lips to his and to melt into the solid warmth of Coulson's chest and-

"You can... have one?" Clint says, before wincing at how uncertain he sounds, trying his best to distract himself from how Coulson would feel pressed into his side.

Coulson doesn't reply for a moment, and Clint chances a quick glance at him, unsure of his reaction.

Coulson's staring at him in surprise, eyes soft, lips ever so slightly, tantalizingly parted, and Clint can mark the very moment when Coulson blinks and his exasperated, slightly fond mask slips back into place. "Thanks, but I... ate already," Coulson says, an emotion flickering across his features - _regret_ , Clint quickly ascertains, because Hawkeye is actually well deserved, thankyouverymuch Natasha - before he schools his face into a bland smile once more.

It's not the first time Coulson has turned down one of his advances. The first time Clint had dared hint at something more than a friendly relationship, back in their third year, asking Coulson if he wanted to go grab a butterbeer, Coulson had flushed a bright pink, stammered his way out of a proper answer, and promptly avoided Clint for nearly a week. Clint, having feared he'd irreparably damaged their friendship, had fretted anxiously while Natasha assured him he hadn't done everything wrong - _Clint_ , she had said, in between rounds of trouncing him in wizard chess after sneaking into the Ravenclaw common room (again), _Coulson's so gone on you that it's not even funny_ \- and tried to hide how relieved he was when Coulson showed up again a few days later.

Though Natasha insisted that his attraction to Coulson was mutual, Clint had asked Coulson himself, back at the Yule Ball last year, if he was ever made uncomfortable by Clint's advances. Coulson had stared at him before choking out, "You think being pursued by you is something bad?" and disappearing for another couple of days, only two this time. Clint had tried (and failed) not to be pleased that Coulson didn't manage to stay away from him for as long as last time.

Two years older, and a little wiser, Coulson's poker face is second only to Natasha, but Clint can read him just as easily as he could then. He can read the lightning-fast emotions that still flicker across Coulson's features when he's caught off guard, he can read the lines of his brow, the slope of his shoulders, the arch of his mouth - Clint can even read the barest glimmers of emotion that shine in Coulson's eyes, when he can muster up enough self control to meet Coulson's sky-blue gaze and not fling himself at him like one of the damsels in the cheap romance novels Natasha will forever deny she loves. But he's never managed to understand why Coulson, despite apparently not only welcoming his interest but reciprocating it to boot, continues to politely decline every time Clint propositions him.

"Sure you don't want a frog?" Clint tries, a final resort, but Coulson's already turning away, with a tiny nod and a tinier quirk to his mouth, and when the door of the Ravenclaw common room closes behind him, Clint sighs, slumping back into the cushions.

It says a lot about his hopeless crush that he can't even bring himself to be upset that Coulson took the packet of frogs with him.

 

\---

 

For a Ravenclaw, Clint sure can be stupid sometimes.

It takes him entirely too long to realize that, _hey, maybe Coulson took the chocolate for a reason_ , and by the time he's bounding down the stairs, Coulson is already halfway across the Quad, chocolate frogs in the nearest Humane Sweet Disposal bin, courtesy of the Inanimate Object Rights society.

"Coulson-" Clint begins, skidding to a halt when he realizes - wait a second - Coulson's not alone.

Coulson's talking to _Fury_.

Clint can practically hear Natasha laughing at the expression of surprise he can feel on his face. Fury only ever leaves his tower if something incredibly important has happened (apart from joining them in the dining hall for meals, of course), and Clint quickly rules out the three most likely causes of a surprise Fury sighting, which are, in order: 1) Stark's blown something up again, 2) Clint's somehow forgotten that it's meal time... again... and 3) somebody's going to get expelled.

Well, he can't really rule out the third option, but Coulson, despite not being a Prefect himself - Clint still doesn't understand how - maintains an exemplary record of both good behavior and organization. The Prefect's Prefect, if you will. Which means that the odds of Fury expelling Coulson are practically nonexistent.

But hey, Clint's a Ravenclaw, and everybody knows how the saying goes ("When in doubt, turn to Professor Hill," but she's from Ravenclaw as well so the point still stands), so he casts a Disillusionment charm on himself and sidles up closer to Coulson and Fury, despite the rational part of his brain screaming at him to get the hell out of Dodge as soon as possible.

Natasha would be so proud.

He moves closer just in time to catch the tail end of their conversation. "...in the Ravenclaw tower again?" Fury asks knowingly, and Coulson - Coulson _blushes_.

"It's as part of my duties as the rest, sir," Coulson says, and woah, woah, wait a sec, duties?

Fury waits for no one, apparently, because he's already speaking again. "Flirting with Barton is one of your duties, Cheese? Because if that's how you deal with every one of our students, I'm surprised no one's complained to me yet."

The laugh Clint trying to hold back after Fury's "Cheese" comment - Cheese? As in Philadelphia Cream Cheese? _Seriously_? - dies in his throat when Coulson blushes even more violently. Clint didn't know Coulson's face could go that red. Huh.

Fury catches Clint's eye, and winks.

Clint tries not to fall over backwards from the shock. Apparently he hasn't been as successful at stifling his laughter as he'd thought, but if he didn't expect Fury to wink at him - he's only got one eye, isn't that a safety hazard or something? - he _definitely_ doesn't expect Fury to ask, conversationally, "So when are you going to let him take you out on a date, hmm?"

Clint bites down on his tongue. Hard.

 _Ow_.

Coulson looks away, then. "I- I don't think the subject is up to discussion," he says, and Clint now firmly believes that you learn something knew every day because never in a million years did he think Coulson would stand up to Fury.

Fury rolls his eye. "Phil. I know you're terrified of him finding out, but the O.W.Ls are coming up in less than a week and it's not going to take a genius to figure out why you aren't enrolled in any classes. The kid's a Ravenclaw, after all. He's probably worked it out already, even if he doesn't know it yet."

Clint's mind, already buzzing, kicks into overdrive. Coulson's not enrolled in any classes? Why would Coulson not be enrolled in any classes? Coulson's efficient, and tireless, and hardworking, and, and, he's probably got a metric ton of magical ability, and...

Come to think of it... Clint doesn't remember Coulson ever using magic in front of him. Or talking about magic, for that matter. Even in Hogwarts, it's not like people walk around with their wands flapping every which way, but Clint - Clint of the incredible observational skills, don't listen to what Natasha tells you - doesn't even remember a single throwaway comment about something as trivial as "Charms homework is so difficult sometimes," coming out of Phil's mouth.

And even though he knows Coulson is in his year level, even though he knows Coulson sits next to or across from Clint at every evening meal, Clint can't remember seeing Coulson anywhere for his entire first year. And for most of his second year, for that matter.

What house is Coulson in, anyway?

"It's just..." Coulson shrugs, wrapping his arms around himself, the briefest flicker of - _misery_ , Clint is shocked to realize - contorting his features. "He's a wizard."

Fury looks at him. "So are you," he says, and Coulson laughs humorlessly, a brief, mocking sound.

"Sure, I've got all the signs, like things happening whenever I wish hard enough, and sometimes I'm even able to cast a spell if I concentrate, but I'm not anything like them, Clint most of all. Clint..." Coulson trails off, and Clint can practically see his mask shatter, revealing wistfulness and yearning and a terrible, horrible resignation. "I'm just so scared that I'll tell him and... and he'll push me away."

 _What_ , Clint thinks.

"What." Clint says.

It takes a moment - and a feeling of warmth trickling down his spine - for Clint to remember that, technically, he's not supposed to be listening to this conversation. Phil is already staring right at him in wide-eyed shock, and Fury exasperatedly pinches the bridge of his nose.

"You two sort this out by yourselves," he growls. "I need to find Stark before he melts through another cauldron, so I don't have the time to be playing matchmaker. Barton, if you break his heart I swear to any deities that may or may not be listening that I will kick you out of here so fast you won't even have time to learn to cast a better Disillusionment charm."

And with a swirl of dark robes, Fury's gone. Say what you want about Fury, the man knows how to make an exit.

"Did you... hear that entire thing?" Coulson asks, pale, and Clint nods.

Clint knows he has to apologize for eavesdropping, for not respecting Coulson's privacy, for, for everything, and yet the first words out of his mouth are, "Is that what you really think about me?"

Coulson blinks. "What- that you're-" he starts.

"That I won't like you just because you can't do magic?" Clint cuts him off, hating how shaky - how _hurt_ \- his voice sounds, even to his own ears. "Is that the kind of person you think I am?"

Coulson stares back at him, mouth opening and closing uselessly, at a loss for words, and suddenly, Clint doesn't even care.

"It doesn't matter anyway," he says, turning, raising his hand to wipe away at whatever's causing the sharp prickling in his eyes before exhaling sharply when he encounters moisture.

Clint can't be crying right now. He hasn't cried since his parents died in a car crash, and besides, _Clint's_ the one in the wrong here, eavesdropping on Coulson's conversation - he can't be the wounded party if it's his fault, dammit - but his heart, squeezing tight in his chest, doesn't seem to care much for concepts as abstract as _logic_ or _right_ or _wrong_.

"Just... forget it," Clint finally says, because he doesn't want to hear what Coulson has to say, doesn't want to hear Coulson get angry at him for eavesdropping, doesn't want to feel even worse than the way he feels now, the way his lungs can't seem to draw enough air and his eyes feel raw and his entire body feels cold, but suddenly there's a hand gripping his shoulder and jerking him backwards and-

Coulson's mouth is on his, soft and warm and insistent, and Clint freezes, staring into Coulson's eyes for an endless moment - _sadness_ , _desperation_ , _love_ \- before his own eyes flutter shut. His hands wrap themselves around Coulson's neck, resting on Coulson's broad shoulders, and Clint melts into Coulson's front, pressing himself into Coulson's chest, and Coulson clutches at him just as enthusiastically back.

 _Breathe_ , say his lungs. Clint settles for just brying himself deeper in Coulson's warmth, but his lungs are insistent, and soon - so soon, too soon - Clint finds himself breaking their contact, leaning backwards, Coulson's ragged breathing a dizzying tattoo on Clint's lips.

He finds himself raising a hand to his mouth, almost disbelieving. "Sorry," he starts, because he has to apologize first, even though he can't currently remember why - Clint, your name is _Clint_ \- and then, "What..."

Apparently his brain doesn't feel inclined to cooperate, so he just lets it trail off into nothing as he loses himself in the emotions he can read in Coulson's blue eyes.

"I'm sorry too," Coulson says, and Clint can hear the sincerity in every word. "I didn't mean to imply that- I didn't want you to feel that..." Coulson trails off - _Phil_ , Clint decides, because he can't keep on calling him Coulson after that kiss - and simply settles for tugging Clint closer to him.

"I was scared," Phil murmurs.

Clint lets himself breathe Phil in, clean and soapy and just indescribably, unadulturatedly Coulson, before replying. "I could never-" he punctuates it by raising his eyebrows, "Never think less of you just because you aren't as good at magic."

Phil shakes his head, then. "I'm not just bad at magic, Clint," he says, despairingly, "I can't do it. I'm a, a-"

"A squib?" Clint asks, not giving him a chance to reply. "Because, see, from where I'm standing, you're hardworking and studious and... and so incredibly beautiful that sometimes I can't even look at you."

Phil jerks his head round to stare at him, and Clint shrugs helplessly. "I don't think that being a squib makes you any less of these things." he admits. "Maybe even more so."

"I'm so fucking stupid-" Phil starts, and Clint can feel a grin of undisguised delight break across his face because - Merlin's socks, he made Phil Coulson _swear_ \- before Phil is kissing him again, rough and dirty and with gratuitous tongue action that leaves Clint's legs shaky and Clint himself feeling glad that he's got his arms wrapped securely around Phil's shoulders.

 _Breathe_ , say his lungs, and this time Clint complies to them, taking a deep breath before giving as good as he's been given and licking his way into Phil's mouth, awkward and clumsy, and the way Phil moans and melts into him is so indescribably perfect that Clint's heart feels as though it could burst.

**Author's Note:**

> Vaguely inspired by [this post](http://iketeratsukiko.tumblr.com/post/97538210461/restlesslyaspiring-twigwise-soloproject).


End file.
